


Five Things Ms. Jennings Saw (That She Wasn't Supposed To)

by gilligankane



Category: Guiding Light
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-14
Updated: 2009-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An argument, a kiss, a tear, a proposal, and a family, in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Ms. Jennings Saw (That She Wasn't Supposed To)

**_i. An Argument_ **

**_“we get along, so we shouldn’t argue…”_ **

If Natalia Rivera, sitting outside on a park bench alone, doing her best not to cry, is supposed to surprise her – it doesn’t. If Olivia Spencer, standing behind her with a hand outstretched like she’s trying to touch the younger woman, is supposed to surprise her – it doesn’t.

She’s learned, since the first day Emma Spencer came through her classroom door, not to be surprised by  _anything_  a member of the little girl’s family does.

So she continues on towards her car without being noticed, and she  _really_  means to just get in and go home to her two cats and her electricity bill, but she can’t find her keys.

“Natalia,” she hears Ms. Spencer say quietly. “Can you just come home and we’ll talk about it?”

She hears Ms. Rivera snort. “Home? Where’s  _that_?”

She knows the back-story – or at least, she knows what she overheard Emma telling Derek: how there wasn’t a wedding after all; how Emma and her mom still live at the Beacon again; how Ms. Spencer and Ms. Rivera –  _Mommy_ and  _Natalia_  – don’t talk much anymore; how it makes Emma sad.

She can’t help but fumble for her keys a little longer than necessary.

“Fine,” Ms. Spencer amends. “Let’s go back to the Beacon and we’ll talk about…”

“I’m  _done_  talking,” Ms. Rivera snaps.

“Natalia…”

“Stop  _Natalia_ -ing me like I’m some  _goddamn_  petulant child. Stop trying to  _talk_  to me about everything.  _Stop_  trying to solve all my problems.”

“Well that’s what friends  _do_ ,” Ms. Spencer snaps back.

Ms. Rivera snorts. “Yeah, and since when are  _we_  friends? Since when is spending time together anything more than a business arrangement? Since when did we suddenly become friends and stop being  _partners_ , huh?”

She slides her key into the lock on the driver’s side and waits breathlessly.

“Could you cut the self-pity shit for a day, please,” Ms. Spencer asks angrily. “Because you’re scaring your son and my daughter and it’s just pissing me off.”

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Ms. Rivera says, not under her breath.

Ms. Spencer, in the reflection of her window, throws up her hands and lets out something that sounds like a growl. “Fine.  _Fine_. If you want to sit here and freeze your ass off, that’s fine with me. You want to sit here and pretend like we don’t need to talk, that’s fine with me. Hey,” she throws out, walking backwards away from Ms. Rivera. “Maybe, if I see Frank, I can send him your way. Then, you two can get married,  _really_  get married this time, and everything can go back to how it’s supposed to be.”

“Oh,” Ms. Rivera chuckles humorlessly. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I love you,” Ms. Spencer says, shrugging her shoulders. “So, no.”

She gets in her car, but Ms. Rivera doesn’t move.

**_ii. A Kiss_ **

**_“you and i, on a cloud, kissing, kissing…”_ **

She’s grocery shopping, deciding between Chicken by the Sea Tuna and Starkist Tuna, when she sees two women, huddled by the peanut butter, deep in conversation.

“Crunchy, or…”

“Smooth,” Ms. Spencer says quickly. “Emma doesn’t…”

“Like the crunchy kind,” Ms. Rivera finishes with a smile. “Can’t disappoint Jellybean, can we?”

“If she didn’t have her secret sandwich…”

She thinks she sees Ms. Spencer  _grimace_.

She decides on Starkist and drops it into her basket, glancing between her own and the Spencer-Rivera cart, frowning at her tuna and her canned soda and the Milano cookies, because  _their_  cart has apples and bananas and peanut butter and wheat bread.

“Well, did she want anything else special? No cookies,” Ms. Rivera continues when Ms. Spencer opens her mouth. “Absolutely not.”

“What about cookies for  _me_.”

Ms. Rivera smirks. “We have enough cookies at home.”

She’s never seen a grown woman pout before, but here’s Ms. Spencer, standing in aisle three, pouting because her – girlfriend, roommate, partner – is telling her she can’t have cookies. “Well, fine,” she finally says. “Are they at least chocolate chip?”

“Yes,” Ms. Rivera says with a laugh, one hand on Ms. Spencer’s elbow and even from here – the distance between the tuna and the peanut butter – she can see that hand trembling a little bit and then Ms. Rivera is taking a small step forward.

“Natalia,” Ms. Spencer breathes out.

And then she blinks, because Ms. Rivera is leaning forward and up a little and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Ms. Spencer’s mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do, right between the light and the regular Jiffy peanut butter.

She watches as Ms. Spencer’s arms glide around the smaller woman and she sighs wistfully, because  _she_  wants to kiss someone in the canned food aisle of the grocery store.

Scowling, she takes the Starkist out of her basket and tosses back onto the shelf – she doesn’t even really  _like_  tuna anyway – and strides down the aisle, past Ms. Spencer and Ms. Rivera who are still stuck together.

She doesn’t say hi this time; they look a little busy.

**_iii. A Tear_ **

**_“laughing through my tears…”_ **

“…And that’s why my family is  _just_  as important as everyone else’s, and why my family is  _just_  as fun and happy too. Because we all love each other and we call like to make each other smile.” Emma’s grin is wide, stretching from ear to ear as she goes to step away from the podium. “Oh!” She settles back in front of the microphone. “And because my Ma makes the best pancakes I’ve ever had. Even better than my Mom makes them.”

She claps first, because everyone in the audience is too stunned to speak; to stunned because they’ve just been told, subtly,  _again_ , by an eight-year-old exactly why they’re bigots and why her family is so much better than theirs.

Jodie’s parents clap next, and Jodie beams at them, flashing a “thumbs up” in Emma’s direction.

The little Spencer just smiles like she knows she’s better than everyone in the room.

When the rest of the kids finish, she takes pity on the parents fidgeting in their seats and invites them to some over-sugared Kool-Aid and some cookies that are clearly store-bought, offering them the chance to read the essays on display in the presentation area and she wonders if they know that, by now, after so many of these “fun” Family Day’s, she has the script memorized – she said the same  _exact_  thing at the  _first_  Family Day, months ago.

She’s eating a cookie when she sees Emma’s  _mom_  standing on the edge of the crowd while Emma’s  _ma_  chats merrily with the rest of the PTA moms.

“Hey Ms. Jennings!” Emma squeals as she runs past, Derek and Jodie close at her heels.

“Slow down,” she says reflexively, but not unkindly and not without a smile: she kind of has a soft spot for Emma Spencer with all her brashness and goodness.

“…cinnamon,” Emma’s ma – Natalia, Ms. Rivera – is saying as she gets closer. “Add a little to the batter, just sprinkle it in while you’re mixing it, and  _presto!_  the kids will love it.”

“I’ll have to try that. Steven likes cinnamon,” Steven’s mother says, nodding.

“Me too,” Jodie’s mom agrees.

Ms. Rivera smiles like she’s powering the sun.

She’s almost close enough to touch Ms. Spencer when she stops, freezes right in her tracks.

Because it looks like Ms. Spencer – the town badass, from what she’s heard in passing – is crying, one lone tear crusading down her cheek.

Ms. Spencer is just staring at her daughter and her –  _her what_ , she asks herself.  _What does she even call Ms. Rivera?_  Just staring between them with dark eyes. Ms. Rivera keeps rambling about cinnamon, tripping up on the letters every other time she says it, mentioning how she puts it in the coffee in the morning and how Ms. Spencer –  _Olivia_ , Ms. Rivera calls her with a laugh – never washes the dishes or folds the laundry without a fight and Steven’s mom says  _just like_ my _husband_  with a loud laugh. And Emma is just darting through the room, weaving in and out of the adults legs, laughing with Derek and Jodie and the other kids who have joined their impromptu game of chase.

For a moment, she sees what Ms. Spencer sees: a loving woman and a beautiful, happy daughter.

She munches on the rest of her cookie and watches as Ms. Spencer tries to slyly wipe the tear away, giving an immediately bright smile when Ms. Rivera turns back in the middle of the conversation to grab Ms. Spencer’s hand, tugging her forward.

What she wanted to say to Ms. Spencer, it can wait.

**_iv. A Proposal_ **

**_“i’m on my knees…”_ **

She finishes some of the papers, resisting the urge to tear them all into little shreds, because she’s supposed to be a peppy, bubbly, over-enthusiastic first grade who puts smiley faces at the top of the awkwardly written, not an aggrieved, slightly hostile, frustrated twenty-seven year old with debt up to her ears.

But as she pulls Emma Spencer’s spelling test to the top of the pile, she hears the small scuffle of shoes against the tile hallways and she pauses: everyone is supposed to be outside on the playground.

“It looks…funny,” she hears from under the door and it sounds suspiciously like Emma and she can only imagine she’s talking to Derek.

They’re never more than five feet apart, ever.

“Yeah, well,” Derek – she  _knows_  its Derek now – says slowly. “It was the best I could do.”

She hears toe-tapping and can only imagine Emma has her hands on her hips and a slight frown on her face – she knows that face.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Derek finally says and she presses herself against the doorway, peering through the glass – as only those over 4’ 5’’ can – out into the hallway upon two of her brightest, least annoying students. She has to hold back a laugh.

Derek is on both knees in front of Emma who is – she was right – just staring at him with her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed and Derek is holding his hands out in front of him, both of them, just waiting.

“It’s from a  _Cracker Jack_  box,” Emma points out and Derek ducks his head.

“I said I’d get you a new one,” he mumbles, pulling back just a little. “I mean, if you don’t want to…”

“I do,” Emma jumps forward, grabbing the shiny, obnoxiously big ring out of his tiny hands and shoves it unceremoniously onto her left middle finger, then corrects herself, sliding it a little gentler onto her ring finger. She tilts her head to the right. “Do you feel butterflies for me?”

Derek blushes – even through the bubbled glass she can see it spread across his face. “Well,  _yeah_.”

She shakes her head and moves away from the door, settling back into her seat, grabbing her red pen and holding it, poised, over Emma’s spelling test.

Emma Spencer just might, one day become Emma… _What the hell is Derek’s last name again?_

She shakes her head. It doesn’t matter.

 But she really hopes that Derek gets Emma a different ring; the Cracker Jack box ring was  _so_  1994.

**_v. A Family_ **

**_“don’t forget that your family is gold…”_ **

Emma is the last kid left.

This never happens, because Ms. Spencer is the type of mom teachers like to call  _paranoid_  when they’re talking to each other, and  _concerned_  when they’re talking to other parents. And because Ms. Spencer is  _that_  type of mother, Emma is usually the first one picked up.

But there  _must_  be something going on, because Emma is still sitting on the swings, her tiny legs dangling inches over the ground, content to play by herself.

It’s odd, because if Ms. Spencer doesn’t come get the little girl, Emma’s nanny – Jane, she thinks – is next in line. Or maybe Ms. Rivera. Once, it was Rafe, Ms. Rivera’s felon son.

She’s about to call Emma over and ask her if she wants to come inside, because even if it’s only early fall, it’s getting cooler as the afternoon fades and the last thing she wants is Ms. Spencer to blame her for the kid getting pneumonia or the sniffles. Actually, she amends, she doesn’t want Ms. Spencer  _or_  Ms. Rivera on her case.

Before she can open her mouth, though, someone is calling out and Emma’s head snaps up. “Hey munchkin!”

She’s pretty sure – or at least she hopes – that this guy walking towards them is Rafe Rivera, but she doesn’t get a chance to ask, because Emma is hurtling past her and launching her tiny body into his waiting arms.

“Rafe!” So, she was right. “Why are  _you_  picking me up?” The little girl looks around. “Did you  _walk_  here?”

“Well, I figured that you and me, we could get some ice cream or something; just hang out, the two of us.” Emma smiles wide and she can’t help but think that this kid could find a reason to smile about  _anything_.

“Emma!” She hears another voice call and then Ms. Rivera is standing next to her son and the little girl, grasping Emma’s face in her hands like she’s checking for anything wrong. “Oh  _God_ , baby, I’m so sorry no one was here to pick you up.”

Emma giggles. “Rafe came,” she points out.

Ms. Rivera looks at her son like she’s seeing him for the first time, pulling back just a little with wide eyes. “Rafe?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Hey Ma. I came to see you at the Beacon and Greg said you guys were in the meeting of the century and I wasn’t sure if Jane was picking her up today, so I figured I’d just take a walk and check,” he says, glancing away. “No big deal.”

“Rafe, it is,” she starts to say when Ms. Spencer barrels towards them.

“Jellybean?” The older woman pulls to an abrupt stop. “Uh, hey guys.”

“Olivia, I thought you were going back to the house,” Ms. Rivera asks, her hands still covering Emma’s face.

Ms. Spencer quirks an eyebrow. “I got halfway there before I realized that I told Jane she could have the day off…”

“I turned around at Company,” Ms. Rivera admits with a blush. “Guess we all forgot, huh?”

“Not Rafe,” Emma sings, wriggling her face out of Ms. Rivera’s grasp. “ _Rafe_  came to get me ‘cause we’re gonna go get ice cream.”

Neither Ms. Rivera nor Ms. Spencer look that offended. “Jellybean,” the girl’s mother chides.

“Uh-uh,” Emma says quickly. “ _You_  guys can’t come.”

Ms. Rivera snorts. “Yeah, alright. No,” she says to Ms. Spencer when she opens her mouth to protest. “We  _did_  manage to forget, even if just for a minute.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ms. Spencer waves off. “ _Alright_ , go on then. And don’t each too much ice cream, because you haven’t even had  _dinner_  yet, alright missy?” She waits for Emma to nod. “You too buddy,” she points at Rafe and he rolls his eyes, but mumbles something that sounds like  _whatever Mom_.

Emma jumps up on Rafe’s back, grasping at his shoulders and she can see Ms. Spencer pull on the back hem of Ms. Rivera’s jacket to stop her from moving forward and then the two kids are off; she can hear Emma talking about how the new student in class, Suzie, has two cats and three dogs and she can see Ms. Rivera shake her head  _no_  at Ms. Spencer.

“No dogs,” Ms. Rivera says as Ms. Spencer turns to her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ms. Spencer repeats. “Let’s go home and make dinner, okay? ‘Sides,” she continues, pulling Ms. Rivera away from the playground by the hand. “We’re alone and that kid doesn’t have a car.”

“We should buy him one,” Ms. Rivera mentions, smiling.

“We’ll talk about it later. When the house isn’t  _empty_.”

She shakes her head, clearly aware of what Ms. Spencer is insinuating and she can’t help but wonder f Ms. Rivera doesn’t  _get_  it, or is just playing dumb.

Either way, they get to go home to their farmhouse and their kids and their ducks – at least, Emma  _claims_  there are ducks – and she’s just going to go home and heat up some soup.

Maybe she’ll call her little sister, just to say hi.


End file.
